


Moonlight Sonata

by Dogsled



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-05
Updated: 2006-09-05
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: Exactly 500 words of HOT Ron/Harry, just as ordered. For Wolfiekins. Much kudos! (Beethoven's moonlight sonata is my favourite, and the moon is shining brightly through my window :))





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

The reclining figure was bathed in moonlight, so that it made his hair glow like hot coals. Ron’s skin was sweat streaked moonglow, the moonlight caught in his eyelashes rare, unique for that moment, trapped in the tireless fluttering.

His breath catches and then he moans, ivory cheeks flushing, shining as though ground ruby dust has been rubbed into them. He’s clearly having a wonderful dream: Harry hopes it’s about him; he begs and prays, every night, that Ron will just moan his name. Let him moan ‘Harry’, and then the pretending will be over.

The young man shifts on the bed. Muscles honed from desperate Quidditch practice are seen only in the movement of the crimson sheet over that deliciously naked body. Harry’s lips are suddenly dry, his arousal suddenly impossible to ignore. He submits, sliding his hand beneath the sheets and stroking soothingly. So long as he’s quiet then just this once it will be okay.

Harry watches amazed as Ron’s hand moves down too. His sheets are tangled around his long legs, his breath hitching and pouring out of him irregularly. Ron is beautiful in this moment of moonlight; a masculine Diana; hunting without comprehension of his power. Harry is the guileless prey, all too eager to be eaten up.

Ron turns over on the bed, rubbing himself against the sheets, and Harry wishes desperately that he was that sheet. He forces himself to believe it, pumping himself harder. The moon is maddening him; this is sheer lunacy! What if someone heard the all too loud slap-slap off his dirty deeds? It sounds loud in the quiet room, where the only other sound is the sound of Ron’s rutting, and his gasping breath.

When Ron’s head turns towards Harry, his lips are wet; but somehow the drooling into his pillow doesn’t distress Harry. It’s arousing: it’s Ron. He turns again onto his back and the blankets twist the rest of the way around, tangling feet, and revealing a generous expanse of Ron’s moonlit chest.

Harry appreciates the muscles and the hard work that went into them with a further increase in the fervor of his stroking. Ron seems to feel it too; his skin is shiny wet all over, and he looks like pure light. Harry groans, and Ron rises off the bed, releasing his seed carelessly and then slumping back.

Feeling devastated, as though he’s missed the deadline, Harry strokes harder and faster, uncaring of everything going on around him. He’s sat on the edge of the bed now, facing towards Ron, his feet flat on the floor, and he imagines he can hear Ron crying out his name, yelling it in pleasure.

He comes hard, not realizing that the sticky mess that he’s made has woken Ron up, and he’s not calling Harry’s name. Ron is looking at him, and the name on his lips is questioning, rather than pleasurable, the look on his face far from that of a boy in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Harry?”


End file.
